


a most auspicious start

by Nokomis



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: (Though honestly you can read this without knowledge of the movie, F/M, Meet-Cute, Set a few years after Gotham by Gaslight, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Tumblr: fyeahjaysteph, allusions to Jason's death (though details are vague), as a Victorian AU), for the june prompt: halfway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Gotham’s newest criminal -- the Cluemaster -- keeps eluding Batman, so Jason is sent out to the most disreputable pubs the city has to offer to find information. He finds a whole lot more. (Gotham by Gaslight AU)
Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Jason Todd
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	a most auspicious start

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Rainpuddle for betaing! ♥ Written for the fyeahjaysteph June prompt of 'halfway.' Setting it in the Gotham by Gaslight universe was inspired by river9noble. This does nothing to spoil the movie, and could be read as a generic VIctorian AU relatively easily. Set a few years after the movie -- Jason is roughly 17 here.

Jason was, for once in his life, at a loss.

Bruce had sent him down to the Narrows to see if he could suss out who was responsible for the latest string of strange crimes in Gotham -- something that shouldn’t be that hard, really, given that the criminal kept leaving calling cards about town alluding to future crimes. Somehow, though, the criminal kept eluding Batman, and so here was Jason, weaving through alleys and ducking into the most disreputable pubs the city had to offer in hopes of hearing _something_.

Jason was still good at blending in with the Narrows crowds despite his years of living with Bruce; Dickie sometimes accused him of exaggerating his accent to antagonize Bruce, but Jason wouldn’t admit to it. And these days the potential to start a few bar fights was as much action as Jason got, so he refused to turn that down. 

And ducking into the Narrows for information beat having to live this life for real -- it was a relief going back to the Wayne brownstone or, even more ideally for Jason, the Manor itself, where the stench of the city was just a fading memory and all he was expected to do was to _better himself_ , as Alfred termed it. Mostly that meant learning to be a gentleman, despite the fact that there was no fucking way that anyone would ever mistake him for gently bred. 

Timmy fit in with Bruce’s world well enough that he’d taken to bringing him to society and introducing him as his ward, and Dick was charming and had that blinding smile, but Jason knew perfectly well that he was of far more use to the Bat than to high society.

Jason found he didn’t precisely hate the role, especially after what had happened when he was fifteen. Being given leave to rough up bastards by night while living in luxury by day? It was something he could have only dreamed of as a child. 

Sometimes he was almost grateful to the Ripper for tearing through Gotham, because if it hadn’t been for that particular murder spree, he’d never have crossed Batman’s path. Would never have lived this life, would never have known the thrill of the rooftops.

Wouldn’t have known the taste of blood and soot in his mouth, or the way his bones had given in under the force, or the terrible frustration of being treated like he was made of spun glass by Batman.

After going into a third pub and not finding out a damn thing, he decided to take a different approach. Wait in the most suspect location, find the most suspicious individual, and make his inquiries there. 

He turned into a likely alleyway -- far from the nearest streetlamp, piles of refuse left about, and several darkened doorways leading to rundown buildings. He checked the shadows and leaned into the darkest one, just like Bruce had taught him. 

He began to worry he’d picked the wrong alley when a figure darted furtively into it. They wore a dark cloak that blended into the night, and he couldn’t make out a damn thing about their physique. 

He waited until they were past him, trapped within the alley, and stepped out of the shadows, taking up as much space as he could and attempting to look as menacing as possible. Bruce had shown him that, too, and he had to admit it was fun to try out the tricks employed by the Bat.

The cloaked figure let out an unholy shrieking sound, far more shrill than Jason had anticipated, stooped, and then flung something at him. Jason tried to dodge, but he’d made himself a pretty easy target, and something heavy and hard hit his head with stunning accuracy.

Jason crumpled, and the last thing he saw before darkness overtook him was a flash of purple velvet racing past.

*

Jason woke up slowly, head pounding. He was laying on cobblestones, his cheek pressed into a puddle, and two things dominated his vision: a loosened cobblestone with one corner bloodied, and a boot belonging to Batman.

He sat up far too quickly at that welcomed sight, then pressed a palm to his forehead. “Shit.”

Batman stared down at him, mouth twisted in an unreadable manner, then he held out his hand to help Jason up. “How is your head?”

“Aching, but I only see one of you, so it can’t be that bad,” Jason said, having had his share of blows to the head and their unfortunate aftermaths. 

Bruce nodded, but still pushed Jason’s hair back to check the wound for himself. Apparently satisfied, he moved on to the second order of business. “A new calling card was found across the street. This time it was signed by a _Cluemaster_.”

They shared a look, commiserating about the growing absurdity of Gotham’s dark underbelly.

“Then I saw the Cluemaster. Well. I saw that the Cluemaster was wearing a dark cloak. Hooded.” Jason remembered the flash of purple, right before he’d gone unconscious. “It was purple velvet.”

Bruce blinked a few times. “That’s an unlikely color.”

“Should be easy enough to find,” Jason agreed. Wearing distinctive clothing was the last thing one should do when committing crimes. He’d learned that lesson early.

“Go home,” Bruce said. Jason could tell he was still concerned, and Jason realized he had come across Jason lying unconscious in an alley bleeding from the head. He didn’t want to know what unfortunate memories were flashing through Bruce’s mind.

He clasped Bruce’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m fine, really,” he said, but went.

*

Bruce had no luck finding the Cluemaster that night -- Jason waited up to make sure -- and the next evening found Jason, now with a hat slung low over his brow to hide the distinctive bruise, moving through the Narrows trying to catch sight of purple velvet. 

Batman was on the docks, keeping watch over an incoming ship, as the calling card had heavily implied that a robbery was afoot there.

Jason had wanted to join him, as obviously the culprit was going to be found there, but Bruce had insisted that he return to the scene of the crime. Jason knew that Bruce simply hadn’t wanted him in the line of fire should another attack come. Jason had been coddled since his convalescence had come to an end, and it was grating on him in a way that it hadn’t when simply waking up in the morning had felt like a gift.

Dickie, masked and ready, had joined Bruce as backup. Timmy had donned his own mask -- red, in contrast to Dickie’s blue -- to wait nearby in a cart, to take the Cluemaster to the precinct. Or to haul the injured away, should things go awry -- they’d learned that lesson the hard way. Jason still didn’t know how they’d gotten him home. Didn’t want to, didn’t ask too many questions about it.

Jason’s costume had never been replaced, afterwards. He was stuck in a strange halfway place, when it came to vigilantism -- trusted to go in the roughest parts of town and sussing out info and even roughing up likely targets, but when it came to putting on a costume and marking himself as someone distinctive, someone associated with the Bat… That was where Bruce drew the line.

It was a line he’d found harder and harder to accept, of late.

He made an honest attempt at finding the Cluemaster, but no one was willing to talk. His coat was the most disreputable that he owned, but given that Alfred had approved its original purchase, it was a damn sight nicer, even in disrepair, than anyone else’s, and no one would say shit to him. So instead he spent the evening drinking and carousing, ignoring Bruce’s dire warnings about sobriety being an important factor while on the job. Wasn’t like he was really _on the job_ , anyway. It was fucking obvious they were keeping him out of the line of fire. 

Eventually his head stopped aching, his anger faded to a dull roar he could ignore, and laughter flowed easily from his lips. His mission was a hopeless one, after all -- not a sign of purple anywhere. 

Eventually it started to feel much too hot and stuffy within the pub, so Jason slipped out the side door and leaned against the outer wall, head tilted back to rest against the bricks. He’d lost his hat at some point, he realized; no one had said a word about his injury, so perhaps his hair had concealed it.

He closed his eyes for just a second, enjoying the chill in the wind as it swept across his face, and when he opened them, he saw the cloaked figure perched on a ledge across the street.

He froze. He had two options: pretend he hadn’t seen, then follow as surreptitiously as possible, or yell and hope that the Cluemaster was startled enough to make a mistake.

He glared up at the Cluemaster, then yelled, “Hey, you ass!” 

The Cluemaster froze, then took off, wobbling on the ledge while escaping. Jason ran across the street, narrowly avoiding getting trampled by a horse-drawn cart, and was trying to figure out how, exactly, to scale the building -- it was only two stories, Dickie wouldn’t have had a problem, but Jason was perhaps not at his peak performance -- when the Cluemaster tripped over the end of the cloak and toppled. 

Right onto Jason.

“Ow,” he said, staring up at the sky. There was a criminal laying across his legs, and his ass hurt, but at least he hadn’t hit his head again.

“Sorry?” said the Cluemaster, and -- okay, the voice was not what Jason had expected. He sat up, pushing the figure roughly onto the ground. The cloak had fallen open, revealing a very feminine figure and long blonde hair.

Jason grabbed her wrist before she wised up and fled, and said, “Alright, Cluemaster, what’s your game?”

“What?” she squeaked, looking deeply offended. “I’m not the Cluemaster.”

“You’re not?” Jason said. “You left a calling card with that name on it.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand. That’s… I’m not the Cluemaster.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m the Spoiler.”

“The Spoiler,” Jason repeated. 

Spoiler looked unabashed. “I’m spoiling crimes.”

“You’re committing crimes,” Jason corrected. “I know, because I’m trying to stop them.”

“That’s not me,” she said, shaking her head. She was quite pretty, Jason thought -- near his own age, maybe a bit younger. Her clothing beneath the cloak was as unorthodox as her name -- pants and a dark shirt, both form-fitting enough to be practical to climb in. No loose sleeves to catch on windowsills or fence posts. It reminded him vaguely of the outlandish outfits Selina would don to join Bruce out on the rooftops.

“Some other cloaked maniac is running around leaving clues?” Jason said, to point out the absurdity of her denial.

She nodded fiercely, hood falling completely away. “Precisely.”

Jason stared at her, waiting for clarification. Her wrist was solid in his grip, and she wasn’t trying to pull away, but he knew better than to take the chance and let her go. “So you’d have me believe that you coincidentally happen to be out doing the exact thing as the Cluemaster.”

“Clearly it’s not a coincidence,” she said, mouth quirked. “I’m trying to stop him, too.”

“Well, don’t,” Jason said. “We’ve got this.”

“We?” she said. She looked around in an exaggerated way at the empty street. 

Jason felt a flush on his cheeks. He couldn’t exactly say he was working with Batman -- he wore no mask, people around here had known him since childhood, and he still had no real idea who this girl was -- so that left him with not a lot of defense. “My associates are stopping the criminal.”

“Are they? Because they aren’t here.”

Jason deliberately kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t giving her any more clues. 

She didn’t seem to mind, though. She reached out and he almost flinched back as she brushed his hair away from his forehead, revealing the healing cut she’d given him the previous night. “Thought that you looked familiar. I would apologize for that, but I’m not sorry.”

“Of course you’re not,” Jason said, though he didn’t begrudge it, especially now that he knew who had caused him the wound. Her touch was feather-light, and she said with confidence, “At least it won’t scar. It’d be a shame, on that face.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Jason said, resolutely not letting her loose. 

“Clearly,” she said, looking around.”I really do want to capture the Cluemaster sometime this evening, though, if you’d be obliged to help. It’d be a shame to let it happen when we’re so close.”

“Isn’t the crime at the docks?” Jason said, because this girl seemed pretty certain that the actual culprit was going to be coming to the Narrows instead.

She rolled her eyes. Everything she did seemed exaggerated, or maybe Jason had just gotten used to Bruce’s subdued body language. It was a little refreshing, to not have to guess at what her intent might be. “Yeah, but not ‘til later. He always goes to Noonan’s first.”

“Do you know the Cluemaster personally?” Jason asked, because how the hell did she know the man’s schedule.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “That’s why I’m so keen on making sure he’s caught. He’s a total bastard.”

“There are a lot of those,” Jason said, because he knew that tone -- he’d used it himself when he’d described Willis Todd. He realized, quite abruptly, that they were still sitting on the ground, and he rose to his feet, helping Spoiler to her own feet while maintaining his grasp on her wrist. Standing, the difference between their heights was suddenly more apparent, and he felt a vague sort of guilt for continuing to hold on to her, even though she appeared to be ignoring it completely.

Raucous laughter echoed down the street, and Jason took a few quick steps forward, pushing Spoiler into the nearby alley, pushing her against a brick wall as gently as he could manage, blocking her from view with his own form. 

“I’m not scared of those idiots,” she hissed, chin pointed upwards. 

“Neither am I,” Jason snapped back. “But seeing a lady gallivanting about in that getup is memorable, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Because her accent was as clear as his, and it was equally likely that they knew the drunken idiots in the street. 

“Fine.” Her tone clearly showed that she agreed with his point even if she wasn’t entirely pleased with it. “And this isn’t a getup. It’s my vigilante uniform.”

“Your face is uncovered,” Jason pointed out. 

Her cheeks were red enough to see the flush even by the dim light from the gas street lamps. “I had a mask, but it kept sliding over my eyes.” 

As if to demonstrate, she tugged at a bit of cloth around her neck he’d mistaken for an unconventional ascot. She pulled it up, looking momentarily menacing as her features disappeared from view, but then it immediately slid down revealing her annoyed expression.

Jason couldn’t help the burst of laughter. “You have to use spirit gum.”

“An expert, are we?” Spoiler teased, and suddenly Jason was hyper aware of their proximity. Her face was already tilted up towards his, her hand warm in his— when it had changed from him holding her wrist to having their fingers tangled together, he had no idea — and there were mere inches between their bodies. 

“Maybe,” Jason said. His voice sounded rough to his ears, and he cleared his throat. With his free hand he reached out and traced along the trim of her velvet cloak, which felt like silk. “Where’d you manage to get this?”

He didn’t point out it’s cost; he might live in luxury now, but he hadn’t totally become an asshole.

“Stole it,” she said, rather shamelessly for someone supposedly out fighting a thief. “From that wax museum near Wayne Plaza.” 

Jason grinned, but didn’t get a chance to tell her how clever that was before more drunken laughters and jeers came from the entrance of the alley. 

He froze, stock-still. The laughter echoed strangely between the buildings, making it monstrous, and for a terrible second he was back _then_ , staring at a twisted smile as his bones cracked and blood dripped into his eyes.

He pushed the memory away, but found himself shaken. Spoiler was staring at him with confused concern, and he didn’t want to imagine his expression. 

The laughing men stopped to harass them, and Jason was relieved to see that their faces were untwisted -- simply ordinary men, not something more sinister -- but he kept hearing _that_ laughter echoing in his ears.

“Don’t get lost in whatever memory you’re fighting there,” Spoiler hissed, far more cannily than he appreciated.

Before Jason can formulate a reply, one of Spoiler’s hands has curled around his neck as she called out to the men with the same flirtatious gusto as favored by the local prostitutes, “Sorry, boys, he’s busy!”

The leader of the group yelled something bawdy in return, but Jason was distracted by the fact that Spoiler pulled his head down to hers and was kissing him soundly. Startled out of his earlier reaction, he made a rude gesture behind his back towards the men, but most of his attention was centered on Spoiler. Her mouth was hot and eager against his, and her hand tangled _just right_ into the nape of his hair, raking through it with soft little tugs. 

Spoiler was solid and warm and _here_ , and it was remarkably easy to let loose of the past’s cruelties and focus merely on her.

Jason was pretty sure that the men were long gone, but he sure as hell wasn’t breaking this kiss to find out. He finally let loose of her hand, and moved his to settle at her waist. It felt strangely intimate to reach under that heavy cloak, even though her shirt’s material was thick. 

The kiss broke naturally. Jason opened his eyes to see Spoiler’s small, sweet smile before she announced, “You’re welcome.”

“I can’t fault your method for avoiding a fight,” Jason said, winking at her, hoping like hell that she would take the hint and not ask about his earlier reaction. Her hand was draped over his shoulder on his nape and his on her waist; in another world they might be locked together in an intimate version of a waltz. 

He had a strange, momentary vision of them standing like this at one of Bruce’s galas, her wearing a dress of purple velvet until Alfred put space between them with a sharp comment about the lady’s virtue. There was little enough virtue here in the Narrows; life moved too fast to worry with such, but Jason still took a step back, pulling his hand from her waist reluctantly. 

For the briefest moment Spoiler looked as though she missed his touch, but then she squared her shoulders up and said, “Well, on to Noonan’s, I suppose. Cluemaster should be there by now.”

“Are there any more steps to the plan, or are we making it up as we go?” Jason asked, genuinely curious and infinitely grateful.

“See where the night takes us, I guess,” Spoiler said, as if the night hadn’t already taken them on quite the journey. She pulled up her hood decisively, and Jason followed her deeper into the alley.

His observation that this was as much her territory as his own was clearly on the mark; she led them through several alleys, at one point squeezing through a broken piece of fence that Jason absolutely did not fit through and was forced to drag a half-rotten crate next to so that he could scale the fence. They ended up by an unmarked door that Spoiler pushed through without hesitation, only pausing once she got inside. They were in a small, dark hallway, the sounds of a night well in swing coming from a door at the end.

“I’m gonna point him out to you,” she said. “Get him back here, and we’ll take him out.”

Jason felt a small stab of doubt. “Are you sure it’s him? I don’t want to go after every two-bit goon in the place trying to get at Cluemaster.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “He stole a keg of black powder from the railway. He’s going to use it to bust through the hull of the ship.”

The plan sounded like it had as much chance of taking out the Cluemaster as it did of gaining access to the supposed fortune the ship was carrying. Spoiler seemed to read his doubt and nodded. “It’s an imbecile’s plan, and we have to stop it before it kills someone.”

Like Bruce and Dickie, out on the docks expecting a rogue thief and not expecting an explosion.

Jason shuddered. 

“Okay, show him to me.”

Cluemaster, it turned out, was a blond man roughly Bruce’s age wearing an outlandish orange shirt. Jason tried his best not to notice how much he resembled the Spoiler, and what it might be costing her to help like this. Jason sidled up next to him, wondering about the easiest method of luring him away from the crowd before falling back into old habits. He slid his hand into the man’s jacket pocket, pulling out a bandana in the same garish orange as his shirt, and bumping hard enough into his shoulder that he couldn't fail to notice that his pocket had been clumsily picked.

“Hey!” Cluemaster snapped, reaching for Jason, but Jason slipped just out of reach, and hurried back towards the door he’d entered by.

He pushed heavily through the door, hissing, “He’s coming!” to Spoiler. They hurried to the exit, leaving it wide open as they stood on either side of the doorway, ready for the Cluemaster. Jason tucked the bandana in the upper door frame, visibly fluttering to make sure that the Cluemaster took the bait.

He did. Moments later Cluemaster came crashing through, swearing up a storm before crumpling as Spoiler delivered a crunching punch to his jaw that had Jason touching his own jaw in sympathy. 

Cluemaster crumpled to the ground, and Jason took the bandana down and used it to bind the man’s hands tightly behind his back. They dragged him down the alley to the street -- Spoiler didn’t seem too concerned with the man’s well-being, not treating him gently at all, so Jason followed her lead. They got him to a lamppost on a frequently patrolled street, and bound him to it. Jason double-checked the knots, and satisfied that the Cluemaster was well and truly trussed, prepared to leave.

Spoiler stepped forward and took a folded paper out of her own pocket and pinned it neatly to the Cluemaster’s hideous shirt. “A list of his crimes and where to find the black powder,” she explained.

She had thought this through. 

“So, Spoiler,” Jason said, before she could leave. “What crimes are you planning on spoiling next?”

She tilted her head so that he could see her smile beneath the hood. “You know of any?”

He thought of Bruce’s restrictive rules, at how he was so desperate to keep Jason safe, and thought that maybe Bruce didn’t need to know everything that Jason did. He could still do reconnaissance, but the thrill of the fight— Jason _missed_ that. 

“There any other good costumes at the wax museum? I’m partial to red.”

Spoiler flung herself at him, pulling him into a full-bodied hug that had him twirling her, settling her down on her feet while her cloak still whirled around them. “Might be.”

Bruce and Dickie would be at the docks til dawn waiting on a crime that wasn’t to be. “Wanna see?”

A quick kiss on the cheek and his hand was grasped in hers. Jason wondered how, exactly, he was going to explain the Spoiler to Batman. 

Probably it would be best if she explained herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I know it’s traditionally Tim’s job to meet Steph by having her whack him in the head with a bit of masonry but in this particular AU Jason got there first and Steph’s threat response methods remained unchanged. || [say hi on tumblr](https://nokomiss.tumblr.com/)


End file.
